Spyro's Habit
by Never-Ending-Donkey
Summary: Spyro's not quite as squeaky clean as the early games suggest. Rated T for adult themes and brief strong language.


Disclaimer: Spyro and related characters belong to VU (not Velvet Underground, but that would be cool).

This story was inspired by "Waiting for the Man" by Velvet Underground (lyrics by Lou Reed) and is rated T for adult-ish themes and brief profanity. If you've heard the song, you might get my drift. If some of my language confuses you, I have provided endnotes. I offer these concepts to the public domain. So, without further ado, the Never-Ending Donkey presents…

**Spyro's Habit**

During yet another overcast afternoon in Fracture Hills, a foreign creature stood beneath a small overlook, watching a far-off doorway with nervous anticipation. A small yellow flash hovered beside it, buzzing loudly. It wasn't every day that the so affectionately named "hero of the Realms" paid a visit to Avalar.

Spyro was doing something very unusual for a dragon of fifteen. Not only was he standing on his hind legs, he was wearing clothes, Hunter's skateboarding pants, to be specific. The purple dragon had "borrowed" them while the anthropomorphic cheetah was occupied with yet another attempt to talk that ditzy witch girlfriend of his into going swimming with him.

"Cut it out, Sparx, you'll draw attention," Spyro hissed at his dragonfly companion.

"Spyro, he's ten minutes late!" Sparx buzzed in his native dialect. "What if he's been caught by Earthshapers?"

Spyro shook his head and chuckled. "Buddy, if he ran into Earthshapers, we'd have heard something by now. Trust me, he's always late. He'll get here."

Sparx calmed down a bit, but wasn't entirely convinced. "What if somebody catches him?"

"See, that's the beauty of it. Who'd suspect him? I mean, even Elora thinks he's gone senile, and she's supposed to know these people inside and out."

"Well, what if someone catches us?"

"Then I'll do the talking. Look, Sparx, you want a little Sweetness1 or what? It's bad enough you caught me in the act last time."

The dragonfly sighed, defeated. "Fine. But if we do get caught, I want an extra gram."

"Yeah, sure." Spyro rolled his eyes at his friend's neuroticism. He stuck his claw in one of the pockets of Hunter's jeans, which were comically large on his small, wiry body; Spyro gave a faint smile as he touched the well-concealed gems he'd stored there. Tonight he would not be alone in his mindless ecstasy.

"Hey, reptile," a gruff voice called. Spyro turned toward its source, a tall and surly satyr with a thick beard and a prickly scowl. Judging from the way he squinted, he did not have good eyesight. "What are you doing down here? If you've been chasing my sister, you'll have to answer to me. Spinner hates a shadow2."

Spyro subtly motioned for Sparx to stay out of sight and flattened his yellow-and-orange wings against his back. He could not afford to be recognized. "Ey bro, don't worry, 'at's th' last thing on my mind," he rasped in an assumed accent, "I'm jus' waitin' fer a very, very dear friend of mine."

For a few seconds, no one said or did anything. Then the satyr gave a snort of contempt and turned on his hoof. "Fucking surfers3," he muttered as he stalked off.

Sparx peeked out of one of his best friend's pockets. "Wow, Spyro, you're not so dumb after all," he said, mischievously.

Spyro was about to make a witty retort when he saw a small figure through the corner of his eye. "Look, there he is! What'd I tell ya, Sparx?" the dragon said, excited.

The figure approached, illuminated by the glow of the lava beds. He was another satyr, but stooped with age, constantly pushing his rock crystal glasses back up the bridge of his nose. His black tunic and bowler hat did nothing to keep him from standing out, but Spyro never had the nerve to tell him so during their previous exchanges.

The wizened Alchemist started to apologize, "I'm terribly sorry if I'm later than usual, my boy, but I had to use a more complicated maneuver in order to—"

Just then, he noticed Sparx. "Oh my, have you brought a first-timer?"

"What, don't you remember Sparx?"

"Spyro, it's been such a long time since we first met. I'm getting old, and my memory just isn't what it used to be."

Yeah, and don't I know it, Spyro said in his mind. What came out through his mouth was, "Alright, let's get this over with."

So, the Alchemist led his customers through a series of tunnels and bridges, until they arrived at the rear entrance of the fabled Fracture Hills Temple. The fact that they were making this transaction on holy land made Spyro feel untouchable. Sparx, on the other hand, kept glancing around, still worried about what he had gotten himself into. The Alchemist strained to open the door, politely refusing Spyro's offer to help.

They traveled up three flights of stairs, until they entered a small room with only a table and two chairs as furniture. An electric light dangled from the ceiling. As the Alchemist headed toward the nearest chair, Spyro pulled it out for the elderly satyr's convenience. Being nice to the dealer always meant less chance of an "accidental" overdose. Once the Alchemist was in his seat, Spyro plopped himself in the remaining one. Sparx perched on his buddy's left horn, watching the door anxiously.

"I've fixed something special for you this time, Spyro," the Alchemist said in a hushed tone as he laid a small satchel on the table. Spyro, in turn, placed four gems (two yellows, one blue, and one red) in front of him.

"Let's see it, man," a nonchalant Spyro muttered. Sparx didn't make a sound.

"Just a minute," said the Alchemist, withdrawing an even smaller velvet bag from the satchel. The satyr Alchemist then opened this bag and pulled out a test tube-like container with a cork stopper wedged in the opening. He held it up to the light, revealing a white powder. On close inspection, Spyro saw shining black grains mixed in with the white ones.

When Sparx saw the contents, he forgot his paranoia and blurted, "That's it? That's your drug? It looks like cheap sugar!"

"Shut up, Sparx," Spyro growled.

"Ahem!" Both dragon and dragonfly turned to look at the old satyr. "As I was saying, this is a very special strain of Sweetness. It's stronger than the regular stuff, but you absolutely have to take it in small doses. It should last you up to half a year or so, if you're careful. As for you, Sparx," the Alchemist said as he produced a smaller tube from the little bag, "I was going to save this for later, but since I didn't expect to see you, and you're a first-time user, I'll let you have free of charge." With that, he laid both tubes on the table, collected his payment, and headed for the door.

After exchanging thanks and parting pleasantries, Spyro and Sparx made a hasty exit with their controlled substances and the Alchemist tended to his next customer, a fat, pretentious bear in a trench coat and a fedora. It was simply business as usual on the bad side of Avalar.

Never-Ending-Donkey: Well, there you have it. Classic Spyro is an antihero. Oh, and if I happened to offend you, then please allow me to say this before you get out the pitchfork and torches: Good. I like a little drama. And since there are no references to any real hard drugs, there's little excuse for you to report me. At the end of the day, what's done is done and Spyro is still a fictional character. Plus, I'd rather write about drug addictions than SpyroXEloraXEmber love triangles. So, good night, sleep tight, and quit stalking Adam West. It's just not worth it.

1 A very powerful and very illegal drug (at least in Avalar). It can be inhaled or liquefied, then absorbed or swallowed. If Spyro was caught carrying this, it wouldn't matter if he saved the entire universe. Instant jail time.

2 Slang term for a stalker, or anyone with sketchy intentions.

3 Now mind you, stereotypical bubble-headed surfers in Avalar have very different accents from stereotypical bubble-headed surfers in California. Or anywhere else where people surf.


End file.
